When Rachel Thinks She Can Still Change Me

Liessa and I have come to terms with something Rachel is not entirely ready to concede.

She is more like both of us than she would prefer to admit.

Like Liessa, she does not casually explore ideas.  She enters them fully.  If a subject carries weight or tension, she studies it until the room shifts.  There is no shallow end with her.

Like me, once she believes she sees something clearly, she becomes animated.  Convicted.  Expressive enough that a simple conversation can begin to feel like a structured debate that nobody officially agreed to host.

When the three of us are together, and a topic surfaces where we might not see it the same way, there is a subtle recalibration in the air.  Liessa grows thoughtful.  I lean back.  Rachel leans forward.

And then it arrives.

“You.”

It is rarely followed by something soft.

“You can’t take that position.” 
“You’re being unreasonable.” 
“You’re being emotional.” 
“You can be better than that.”

All delivered with efficiency.  No wasted syllables.

It is the square up and the lecture fused into one seamless offering.  She does not confuse love with passivity.

The remarkable part is that she genuinely believes I can improve.  At seventy-seven.

Last night, as she was saying goodbye before Liessa and I left on an early morning flight to New Jersey, I hugged her and said, “When are you going to start giving your seventy-seven-year-old dad a break on wanting him to change?”

She laughed.  But not in retreat.

Because somewhere inside her is an unwavering conviction that growth does not expire.  Not at thirty.  Not at fifty.  Not at seventy-seven with a boarding pass in hand.

And that is the part that humbles me.

For years, I sharpened her thinking.  Challenged her assumptions.  Refused to let her settle for easy conclusions.  I asked her to grow.

Now she simply assumes the same standard applies to me.

With interest.

If she still believes she can refine her seventy-seven-year-old father, God bless her.  That is not arrogance.  That is loyalty to becoming.

Perhaps this is what happens when two strong personalities refuse to retire from formation.  The conversation continues.

And maybe what feels like friction on the surface is something steadier underneath.

It is trust.

At this point, I am not entirely sure whether I am her father or her long-term improvement project.

Either way, I suspect the syllabus is not complete.